As this article was first offered to Afloat and published by them it is reproduced with that magazine’s permission. It was necessary to cut out some historical detail to reduce it to a reasonable length. Navigational and pilotage notes remain in full.

The remote and lovely Northumbrian Heritage Coast stretches from Amble in the south up to the Scottish border, and includes the Holy Island of Lindisfarne and the Farne Islands. Renowned for its wildlife and coastal castles, the scene of Grace Darling’s famous shipwreck rescue, it was to here that tough but devout monks of the Celtic church brought Christianity and on remote Lindisfarne created one of the world’s greatest centres of culture and learning. Although I am not religious in the conventional sense, I felt that I would like to sail this coast in an open boat as those monks would have done, and arrive at Holy Island by water.

First I had to consider the practicalities of the venture. The Northumberland coast with its off-lying rocks has a dangerous reputation, and becomes a no-go area in fresh to strong onshore winds. In my late sixties I would be in a light 14 foot dinghy, under sail and oar only, and would be single-handed most of the time. However my son, who had sailed the coast before, would be with me for the first day or two, and he loaned me a copy of the Royal Northumberland Yacht Club’s excellent pilotbook, which gives details of every little haven, island and landing place on this coast. The first impression from the pilotbook was that the proposed cruise was only suitable for fully crewed auxiliary yachts. However a careful study indicated that the trip would be feasible for an experienced skipper following the weather signs and forecasts and prepared to haul out if fresh onshore winds set in.

My boat is a Mk1 Leader properly equipped for coastal cruising. My gear included a heavy anchor with chain and ample warp, big fenders — which provide extra buoyancy, and double up as rollers to haul the boat out if necessary — and oars long enough for sustained rowing. I had planned to sail the whole length of the Heritage Coast from Amblemouth, but in order to make sure of reaching my main objective, Lindisfarne, I drove a little further up the coast and launched at the tiny fishing village of Boulmer. Boulmer Haven is no more than a gently sloping beach protected by a half-tide reef, with a narrow gap through which the local fishing cobles pass. It is a quiet and lovely spot, but not recommended for launching, as a drift of soft sand made it necessary to haul the unladen boat out on the trolley and then load it afloat.

Day 1 — Saturday 3 August 1991

The Shipping Forecast had given ideal conditions, force 3 south-easterly veering south-westerly, but as we cast off at 12.25 the breeze died to the lightest of airs, leaving us to short-tack out of the tricky entrance with the rapidly falling tide. Once clear of the land the breeze picked and we were soon bowling along on our northerly course. Despite it being a fine Saturday at the height of the season, there was only one other boat in sight, a yacht some two miles offshore. How different from the Solent! Yet before we left Boulmer the coast road was packed with traffic that had ground to a halt. At 13.00 the breeze died again then filled in from the northwest just enabling us to hold our course close-hauled. Soon the tiny fishing port of Craster, famous for its kippers, was abeam and then the great ruined castle of Dunstanburgh, built right up to the shoreline, came in sight. Once abeam of the castle the wind freed a little, and with the tide still under us, we made good progress, sweeping past Embleton Bay with its great sand dunes, then past the village of Low Newton, and Beadnall Quay a little way to the north.

On reaching the North Sunderland Buoy at 14.50 we altered course for Staple Sound, the easiest passage through the islands. Now we were sailing through rafts of puffins. They allowed us to approach really close before diving under our boat and emerging astern; as often as not with two or three fish in their beaks. Our course took us between the Inner Farne and Staple Island giving us a superb view of the Staple Island Pinnacles, sheer rock columns rising ninety feet from the sea. We then headed in for a closer view of Gun Rock, said to be the best place to see grey seal pups. The Farnes are one of the world’s main breeding sites for this species. Sailing on past Staple Island, Brownsman Island and the Wamses Islands now appeared close abeam. Their rocky shores were lined with dozens of shags.

After clearing the Farnes and their associated rocks, at 16.00 we altered course for Lindisfarne. A freshening breeze made reefing advisable, and visibility had deteriorated, but not to the extent of causing navigational problems. Entering the Lindisfarne anchorage demands care in negotiating the narrow channel which twists between hidden rocks and shingle banks, with a sluicing tide pushing the boat off course first one way then the other. The way in past the Triton Buoy is marked by two massive spires on the mainland shore, erected as leading marks in the 19th century when Lindisfarne was a major fishing port. Following this line in, when a post beacon on the island comes into line with the spire of Lindisfarne’s church, the course alters hard to starboard and leads to the quay and anchorage. While making these manoeuvres in the strong cross-tide with a fluky wind, I wondered how the heavy fishing smacks had managed before the days of auxiliary engines.

As it was low water, we were able to reach Lindisfarne’s quay only by punting the boat through soft mud just covered with shallow water. I stepped ashore. At last I was on the Holy Island that I had heard so much about! However our minds were not long on spiritual matters. We were cold and hungry, and it had started to drizzle. Furthermore we would have to wait for the tide to rise sufficiently to haul the boat to the shore, set up the tent-cover, cook a meal, and settle in for the night. Fortunately my son had got into conversation with a local resident, who most kindly offered us the use of his boathouse on the beach. The Lindisfarne boathouses are one of the features of island; they are built from upturned fishing boats. Apparently the local authority provides grants to help in their preservation, but then take it away in Council Tax!

After a welcome meal and a change into dry clothing, we wandered up to the village for a drink. Naively we sought the quiet, isolated atmosphere we had been led to expect from the many writings and television programmes about Holy Island. The isolation was not apparent on that Bank Holiday. Holy Island, being an island for only two or three hours either side of high water, gets its share of tripper traffic. There was even an ice-cream van!

Day 2 In the morning we decided to explore Fenham Flats, the great area of sandbanks and mudflats enclosed by the Holy Island and its half-tide causeway. Unfortunately being neaps, the water covering the flats was too shallow to get near enough to the shoreline to see much, and the deep water channels were hidden and hard to find. Eventually with the tide falling we sailed back to the great beacons at Guile Point, and landed for lunch. Although Lindisfarne had not proved to be the remote and unspoiled place that writers and film-makers had led me to expect, the dunes and sands of Old Law were. While my son sailed off to explore the deepwater channels of Fenham Flats, now revealed by the falling tide, I walked the shoreline and climbed the largest dune, now stabilised by grass, flowers and the occasional shrub. This was unspoiled coastline as it would have looked in ancient times.

Day 3 My son having left me to return to his studies, on Bank Holiday Monday I decided to sail on for Berwick. Conditions were right, a south-easterly force 3 and good visibility. I drew my boat inshore with the rising tide in order to load it with my gear from the boathouse and cast off at 9.25, about an hour before high water.

Some time before, in a television programme on Lindisfarne, its vicar had maintained that there was only one way to sail into Lindisfarne, the way marked by the great beacons, and that any other course would lead to disaster. He was using this as a parable for some religious point. Even at the time I had strong doubts, and resolved one day to sail to Lindisfarne to find out for myself. Having now seen the harbour entrance at all states of tide it was clear that there was indeed an alternative inshore passage, negotiable at around high water. As I sailed through it became obvious that this alternative passage was commonly used, since I was followed by local fishing boats of substantial draught. This was all within clear view of that vicar’s church door! In fact the locals told me that at high water springs it is quite possible to sail right round the island.

With a fresh westerly I was soon round Castle Point heading north, my self-bailer clearing the water I had taken aboard in beating clear of the harbour. I now had the full ebb stream under me and was making fast time along the island shore. The coastline then receded leaving little to be seen across the northern flats, until huge dunes appeared on the mainland shore. These were followed by rocky cliffs, and then Berwick’s harbour wall and entrance light came into view. I entered harbour at 12.00, but then took some time tacking up the winding deepwater channel of the River Tweed against the strong ebb current. Eventually I gave up and landed on a south shore beach by the lifeboat station. While I lunched, I watched the salmon fishermen setting their net in a wide arc from the shore, rowing it round with a river coble. The Tweed river coble has not the slightest resemblance to the familiar beach coble. It is a clinker dinghy of about twelve feet long, with a rounded stem and a broad stern. In all the time I watched these and other Tweed fishermen, I never saw a single fish caught. With the river still ebbing too fast to make progress against it, I rowed over to the town side, landing close up to the town walls. After walking round the walls I turned into the town itself, which was full of holiday-makers. Berwick has great character and architectural interest, and is well worth a visit.

Returning to my boat, I found that although the tide was now rising, the current was running out as fast as ever. After more time watching the salmon fishermen I decided to push on upstream, to find a place to settle for the night. The water level was still low enough to get under the town bridge without lowering my mast and sailing under Stevenson’s great railway viaduct was no problem, but I failed to make much progress because of the light and fluky winds, and because the channel was still too shallow to tack effectively. Once through the bridges however, the scenery was superb, but I was now concerned about storm clouds building up to windward. Once the incoming tide-flow reached me, it flowed very fast, and almost immediately I was swept on to a concealed ‘horse’ bank in mid channel, with the current driving me on too hard to haul off easily. I gave up the struggle and heated up a meal, as by that time I was ravenous. While I ate I apprehensively watched the approaching storm, hoping to be finished and have the camping cover up in time. I was too late, and was caught in torrential rain while still struggling with the cover, the boat meanwhile gyrating wildly on the anchor. The cover on, I paid out plenty of anchor warp and retired to bed hoping for the best.

Day 4 In the morning I found that the anchor, a 12 lb Danforth with a chain tail, had dragged, since the river bottom consisted of huge flat stones, just about the worst holding ground for a Danforth. The boat had grounded high on the river bank, and was prettily swathed with a great drift of white flowered water crowfoot, obviously washed down from a freshwater stream. As I wanted to explore the river as far as the tidal limit, I had to launch well before high-water, so after breakfast I lightened the boat of easily removable gear in order to lift her on to my big fenders, and rolled her down into the incoming stream.

I was now sailing in the lightest of airs, with the tidal stream first flowing strongly, then falling off, then flowing again fitfully. The breeze was fluky too, and from time to time I hoisted the boom up out of my way with the jiffy-reefing line and rowed. Soon after passing under the A1 road bridge the Adderwater opened up to starboard. It was just about navigable, but for how far I could not tell. In the next few miles a number of power lines crossed the river. Since it is always difficult to judge height from a dinghy, I made a point of luffing up alongside the lines to ensure that there was ample clearance before sailing under.

I should mention that for this type of river sailing I carry a full racing mainsail, so as to catch every breath of breeze. The Northumbrian landscape is different from any other I have seen. It is very open, but with small hills at intervals, and has an austere beauty that is not harsh. Here the population density is the lowest in England, and I saw only about one dwelling for every mile of river. Eventually the map showed that the Scottish border lay on the starboard side, although there was nothing to mark it on the river bank. The river was now narrow, tree lined and shallow, so progress was difficult, but as the map showed that my destination lay round the next bend, I pushed on. Now came into view a fine Victorian suspension bridge on majestic stone supports. I moored on the Scottish bank taking care to check the water level to make sure that I would not be stranded by a falling tide. Despite the Ordnance Survey map indicating that this was the tidal limit the current was still flowing strongly upstream.

After an early lunch I set sail again, tacking downstream with a slight ebb stream now with me. With the increasing flow, I was back in Berwick in two hours, preparing the boat for sea. By 15.20 I was ready with the gear stowed and cast off to return to Holy Island. This time with the current in my favour I cleared the harbour in ten minutes. With a north-easterly breeze I made good progress, but as the weather was not only rather cold and wet, but quite misty, I kept the coast in view rather than steering direct for Lindisfarne. The wind freshened and I considered it prudent to reef. Although I backed the jib to heave-to, the boat still drove forward at about three knots, but steadily enough for single-handed reefing. Lindisfarne Beacon came abeam at 17.15, and by 17.50 I had rounded the point and entered the harbour. With the cold wet weather I would have liked to have got straight back to the boathouse to dry off, but as it was low tide, this would have meant trudging from the low-water mark with several loads of gear, so instead I sailed over to Guile Point for a meal and another walk on its beaches, lovely even on that grey evening.

Day 5 The next morning was warm and sunny, so I took the opportunity to dry out my damp gear before setting off. I was planning to sail to the Farnes, and hopefully spend the night in one of the anchorages around the Inner Farne. I cast off at 10.35, but with the tide flooding in at maximum rate and only a very light breeze it took me a half hour to clear the entrance and gain the mainland shore. With a freshening breeze I worked my way southwards down the coast to Budle Bay, which I wanted to explore. The deepwater entrance into the bay is not easily found at high tide, and I crossed the bar too far to the north, consequently having a rough ride through the breakers, but once through was able to beach my boat on a pleasant sandy beach near the old quay. The bay was once a good natural harbour but has now silted up so that it is only navigable around high water. As it was already high water I had very little time, especially as I had sail and halyard repairs to do first. Fortunately some people in a Mirror dinghy sailed up to see me. Their young family were reaching the age when dinghy cruising would be feasible and they wanted to find out more about the possibilities. While we chatted the husband kindly gave me some tape to speed up my rough sewn sail repairs and helped remove the broken wire halyard. We then had a quick sail together round the harbour before the tide dropped. Budle Bay is a very attractive unspoiled area. There is a caravan site near the beach, but as the caravans are all painted camouflage green, they intrude very little. Two hours after high water Budle Bay was emptying fast, so I cast off again and continued south. I had lost the favourable breeze, it was now light and ahead, and I was making poor progress tacking down the coast against the ebb stream, particularly when trying to clear the reefs running out from Bamburgh Castle. The sunny weather had certainly attracted the crowds to the castle’s beach, but it was the only crowded beach I did see on the whole cruise, even though it was the peak holiday season. Once a quarter mile from the castle car park the beach was deserted again; and I saw not more than four or five walkers in several miles. When the wind died altogether I decided against continuing to the Farne Islands that night, because I was uncertain of my ability to row against the strong tide, and I did not want to risk drifting back and forth with the tide between the rocks and islands all night! I therefore rowed into Seahouses harbour.

Seahouses, or North Sunderland to give it its alternative name, is hardly the ‘Jewel in the Crown’ of the Heritage Coast. In fact, apart from its harbour I could see little in its favour and I would not even recommend the harbour if any alternative is available. I had to pay £4.00 for the doubtful privilege of lying alongside the outer harbour wall, an insecure berth in anything other than calm conditions. To be fair, small craft are a nuisance in a congested fishing harbour. They usually berth in a natural haven called Fluke Hole, but this is only accessible around high water, and I had arrived at low water. However, as often happens, one finds the kindest people in the least attractive places, and a tripper-boat skipper very kindly invited me to berth alongside his boat, and to spend the night in his open deckhouse to save erecting my tent-cover. A couple in a seagoing motor-yacht then invited me aboard for drinks and a chat, explaining that once the fishing boats started throwing out their crates there would be no sleep until they finished. They were right. The noise was like an artillery bombardment of the Seahouses suburbs!

Day 6 I woke for the 05.55 shipping forecast: westerly force 3/4 becoming south-westerly 5/6. Obviously, if I was going out to the Farne Islands it had better be soon! I reckoned that I would just have time to get out to the Farnes and back under the shelter of the land before the weather became too rough. I therefore had a quick breakfast and made another repair to the mainsail, and set sail under reefed main at 08.15.

I had some difficulty in getting out of the harbour, as at low tide there were only a few inches of water over soft mud, but once clear had a fine sail in sunshine and sparkling sea out to the southern end of the Inner Farne. After then sailing north round the island close inshore, I came into The Kettle, the anchorage recommended in the pilotbook. Landing was a problem, there was a concrete jetty, but the pilotbook made it clear that this was for the use of the commercial tripper boats only, so I drew up on what seemed to be the only other reasonable landing place, a small patch of sand between slabs of rock. A National Trust Warden then came up and explained that dinghies were only allowed to be landed north of the jetty, and in any case no-one was allowed ashore until 10.00, which would mean an hour’s wait. I would have very much like to have explored the island, but felt that I could not afford to wait with the prospect of force 5/6 blowing up later. I therefore reluctantly cast off again, skirting Knocks Reef en route for the Outer Farne and the famous Longstone Light.

By 10.00 I was rounding the Outer Farne and the Longstone Light. This is where Grace Darling Lived with her lighthouse keeper father, and from where on September 7th 1838, she went to rescue the survivors of the Forfarshire wrecked on the nearby Harcar Rocks. However with the forecast of heavier winds it was not prudent to stay offshore for too long, so having rounded the Outer Farne I reluctantly headed south to close with the coast, the haunting sound of seal song in my ears. Looking back, I could now see where Grace Darling had rowed from the launching place on the western side of the Outer Farne to the wreck on the Big Harcar rocks. Looking landward there was a superb view of the Farne Pinnacles with the great peak of the Cheviot in the far distance.

By 11.40 I had closed the coast near Beadnall Point, but winds were now very light and variable, changing from westerly to northerly then easterly. At 13.00 I landed at the tiny fishing village of Low Newton for a quick break. The cottages are built in a ‘U’ form round the village green, on to which the fishing cobles are drawn in bad weather. After a short rest I sailed on down the coast towards Craster in a light south-easterly breeze. The 13.55 shipping forecast gave north-westerly backing to south-westerly force 3/4, 5/7 later.

Craster has a tiny walled harbour protected by offshore reefs. I remember particularly its fine cottage gardens overlooking the shore and the huge motorised cobles lying in the harbour. It would have been a good place to stop the night, berthed as I was under the high harbour wall, but I decided to push on for my base at Boulmer. There were problems with the broken wire jib halyard jamming my mainsail hoist, and I was only able to raise the main to 50% area. As it turned out this did not matter, because with the now freshening breeze even this bit of sail was enough to bring the boat to the point of planing. At 18.30 I tacked in through the gap in the Boulmer reefs, and put the boat aground for the night.

Day 7 After a quiet night camping in the boat, in the morning I prepared to complete the exercise by sailing further south to Amble, Alnmouth and Coquet Island with the last of the flood tide, intending to return with the first of the ebb. The wind was force 5 south-westerly, so being single-handed I double reefed the main, having the jib ready but not hoisted. However it was heavy going, and with only about 38% of racing sail area I could not point high enough in the choppy seas to keep under the slight shelter of the land, and lost ground in the short shoreward tacks. By the time Alnmouth was abeam the wind had risen to force 6, a dinghy sailor’s gale. I was making poor progress, I was tired, and I was concerned about the poor condition of the mainsail. Enough was enough, and I bore away back for Boulmer, planing almost continuously even on my scrap of sail, re-entering Boulmer Haven by the shallower southern entrance. On attempting to recover my boat I found that my trolley wheel had burst. Fortunately one of the Boulmer fishermen came to the rescue with his tractor and dragged the boat out for me, refusing any payment. Great folk, these Northumbrians!

Would I recommend the Heritage Coast for dinghy cruising? Yes, but only for really experienced sailors, with the RNYC pilotbook notes, who were prepared to abort the cruise if strong onshore winds threatened to blow up. Compared with the more popular west coast of Scotland, the scenery is as good, and the weather tends to be much dryer, but the water is colder than anywhere else round Britain, even the north of Scotland. For further reading I would warmly recommend Magnus Magnussen’s superb book, Lindisfarne which admirably covers the history and natural history of the whole area.